"Kate," said Lady Scapegrace, as she shut the door of her snug dressing-room and wheeled an easy-chair before the fire for my benefit--"Kate, you're a foolish girl; it strikes me you are playing a dangerous game, and playing it all wrong, moreover. I can see more than you think. Do you know the difference between real diamonds and paste? Not you, you little goose. But you _shall_, if I can teach it you. Kate, have you ever heard me talked about? Did you ever hear any good of me?" I was forced to answer both questions--the former in the affirmative, the latter in the negative. "Do you believe I'm as bad as they give me credit for?" proceeded her ladyship. "No, no!" I replied, taking her hand and kissing it; for I really liked Lady Scapegrace. "Let them say what they will, I won't believe anything bad of you at all." "I have had a strange life, Kate," said she; "and perhaps not quite fair play. Well, the worst is over now, at any rate. I don't _much_ care how short the remainder may be. Kate, did you ever hear I was a murderess?" "No, no!" I repeated, taking her hand once more; for I was shocked and half frightened at the expression of her countenance. "I never heard anybody say more than that you were _odd_, and a flirt, and perhaps not very much attached to Sir Guy." Lady Scapegrace shuddered. "I owe you a great deal, Kate Coventry," she resumed--"a great deal more than I can ever hope to repay. I consider that you once saved my life, but of that I make small account; you have done me a far greater kindness--you have interested me; you have made me fond of you; you have taught me to feel like a _woman_ again. The least I can do in return is to watch you and warn you--to show you the rock on which I made shipwreck, and beseech you to avoid it. Kate, you've heard of my Cousin Latimer; would you like to see his picture?" Lady Scapegrace rose, walked to a small cabinet, unlocked it, and produced a miniature, which she placed in my hands. If the painter had not flattered him, Cousin Latimer was indeed a handsome boy. There was genius on his wide, bold forehead, and resolution in his firm, well-cut mouth; his large dark eyes betrayed strong passions and keen intelligence, whilst high birth was stamped on his fine features and chivalrous expression of countenance. Poor Cousin Latimer! "Look at that, Kate," said Lady Scapegrace, in low chilling tones; "the last time I saw him that was his very image. Thank God, I never beheld him when those kind features were cold and rigid--that white neck gashed by his own hand! O Kate! 'tis a sad story. I have not mentioned it for twenty years; but it's a relief to _talk_ of it now. Surely I was not altogether to blame; surely he might have given me time; he need not have been so hasty--so desperate.